The Light Of Svetlograd
by Zora U Prolece
Summary: After a deep slumber Serbia awoke to find that the world has changed and the tables have turned. Now, she, like everyone else, must fight for her rightful place. Many OC characters and pairings. Main: Serbia/Russia
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: This story might contain stuff that is sensitive to many people, also, as English is not my native language; expect grammar errors and incorrect time and sentence construction. I wrote this only for fun. I do not intend to offend anyone.  
HETALIA: This story contains many non-canon characters. In addition, it is set in the future time. I took liberty in shaping Serbia's past before she came to the Balkans. The reason for this is that there are unclear evidence of "White Serbia's" existence before sixth and seventh century, and the trace of the name "Serboi" around Carpathian Mountains. There is also a theory that "Siberia" has some connection to the current nation's name. There are many 'truths' about the true origin of the Serbs, so I took liberty to create my own version of it all.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or its characters, I also don't own many non-canon characters that will appear in this story.

The left side of her head was throbbing painfully. She had a feeling of falling down even though she vaguely started to realize that she was laying on something hard. Then pain shot through her body and her eyes opened. Someone was calling her, but she could not make it out. With dark spots obscuring her vision everything seemed distant. As the pain started to subside, she tried to move from the cold surface, but her body was refusing her commands, instead staying limp on the ground.

"Step away, let her breathe!"

"I have been telling you all these years that we didn't search everywhere!"

"Vukica, can you hear me?"

"She's Serbia to you bastard! You have no right to call her by her human name!"

"I will call her as I please, now move; I will carry _Vukica_ to the living room."

"Stop arguing you two!"

"He started it!"

_Why do they call me Serbia? _Thought the woman that was lift by strong arms. _Those two words… I guess those are my names…_ As the person that carried her started to walk, she felt her strength and sight returning to some version of normal. Vukica looked up to see a man around his twenties. His skin was pale; his face was round and childish with rosy cheeks. His blonde hair looked like it was dirty, but the glow that it gained when exposed to the light proved otherwise. He had a large nose that surprisingly fitted the whole appearance, and his bangs fell slightly over his violet eyes.

"Thank God, she's awake!" said the man that was walking beside them. He was not as tall as the one who carried her, and was quite different. His skin was darker from the exposure to the sun and he looked older. His hair was dark brown, wavy and it reached his neck. On the top of his head there was a curl that looked like a fountain. "Serbia, are you okay? It's me, Greece." His green eyes, even though they looked like they would close any moment, showed a genuine concern.

"Does she look like she is okay?" snapped the blonde man. His irritation was clear as he glared at the one named Greece. _Why do those people call themselves by the country names?_ Thought Vukica. _Then again, those might be nicknames for the nation representatives…_

"Don't even go there Russia." growled Greece. "I wasn't the one who always left her hanging when it really mattered." The two glared at each other with an almost killing intent radiating from them. The temperature also seemed to drop for a few degrees. Vukica shivered involuntarily at the tense atmosphere and wriggled in Russia's arms.

"Guys, I doubt that it is a good time for bickering, can't you see that Serbia is shivering?" the third person cut in. "She must be cold from being in that freezing basement for so long…" It was a girl around seventeen. Serbia found it interesting how she looked like a cross between two males. Her skin complexion was not pale nor toned. She had bright green eyes with hair colour that seemed to be something between blonde and brown. Her long silky hair that reached her elbows was loosely tied in a ponytail. "Put her there on the couch. Under the pillows is a blanket. It will have to do for now."

They entered the room that was missing a wall. It was almost empty, save for the couch; old fireplace and a few what looked like photographs neatly placed on it. A stray cat ran out into the tall grass through what was once a wall. It was not so clean either; in a corner ants decided to build their hive, and the part of the floor that was closest to the outside was covered in yet not dried mud. Almost blinding light that came through into the dark and not so warm room stirred some familiar sadness and nostalgia in Serbia. It, for some reason, reminded her of an old tree. For years it has been growing, expanding, and eventually, like everything, withered, leaving only a faint trace of the former glory.

She was gently put on the couch and with utmost care tucked in with a rather worn out blanket. Its colour faded through time, and it was torn at the edges. _Where am I?_ she wanted to ask, but her lips felt like they have been glued together. When she managed to part them, all that came out was incoherent noise. She tried again, but it resulted in coughing. Russia was immediately at her side, patting her back and the seventeen year old girl ran out of the room in a hurry.

"I think she needs water." said Greece to himself.

Russia turned his head. "You _think_?"

Just as they were about to get into another argument, the girl came in carrying a glass of water. It did not seem to be very clean, but Serbia greedily swallowed it and slumped back down on the couch. By the way the three of them were looking at her, it was clear that they expected her to say something. The problem was, Serbia did not know what she should say. She was confused to say at least. She could not remember anything that happened before she woke up. She was not clueless, mind you, she knew what an average human would know, but everything regarding _her_ was misty. It was there, she could almost grasp it, but it slipped away every single time, leaving her with only a sense of seeing the three people before. She did not know anything about them, but the more they talked, the familiar feeling of connection to them grew stronger. They called themselves by the country names, even though they were humans, but it somehow felt right. So, deciding that is better to stay silent until the situation was figured out, Serbia, no, Vukica asked a rather stupid question.

"What happened to the house?"

For some reason it caused everyone to stiffen. Greece looked at Russia who looked at the girl. She looked to Greece pleadingly while he glared at Russia accusingly. Russia then glared back equally, Greece clenched his fist, and the girl put a hand on his shoulder. Serbia watched with amusement.

"You should tell her Greece, she's your neighbour."

"Why should I when she has such a _caring brother_?"

"Don't even go there…"

"What, don't like to be called her brother when she has nothing to offer?"

The two started bickering again while Serbia was trying to process the information of the blonde man and her being related. She was completely lost by now, and the only one she was seeing was in a form of the quiet girl standing with calm resignation. The girl saw the plea for help in her eyes and shook her head.

"How about I tell her?" she offered with a shy smile. Men looked at her, and then slowly nodded.

"Go ahead, Voivodina." said Greece. "You were, in fact, the one who was with Serbia twenty four seven, and actually _are_ a caring sibling."

"Alright, here I go." She sat down on the edge of the couch facing Serbia. Like a mother preparing to tell it's child the bad news, she took Vukica's hand.

"In the 2027., you joined NATO, but not EU, against the wishes of Russian Federation. This act caused a rift between you two, and he recognized Kosovo. Soon, after him, many nations followed, and Kosovo got his independence at last. You just stayed quiet though, and fulfilled your duty as a NATO member. Maybe I should skip this part, as you were well when it happened… Anyway, your people in Kosovska Mitrovica tried to separate om Kosovo and to rejoin you, but were were starting being killed or kicked out by the Albanians. To protect them, you declared a war against Kosovo. Thus… In the 2031., a chaos began. Serbian Republic wanted to rejoin you, but Croatia and Bosnia attacked him while Albania had the support of other NATO members. Greece and Macedonia were the only ones fighting at your side against Albanians. Despite losing a war, you refused to give up, and in the 2034., NATO troops entered the Belgrade."

"Only," Greece cut in. "Your troops and civilians left the towns long ago, and were playing hide and seek with the enemy in the woods. However, as a nation you were still alive, yet as a country in human form, missing and presumed dead. Serbian Republic and Macedonia didn't survive and I lost territories near my North-West borders. Only Voivodina partially made it through."

Serbia was listening intently. "How come I slept through all of that?" she asked no one in particular. Her hand slid from Voivodina's grasp. "And more importantly, what am I doing here, and what now?" The other three bowed their heads. "What's wrong?"

"Everything." muttered Russia. "Now it is 19th of June 2058. At the congress held in Novi Sad on 24th of November the same year, Voiodina and you will be officially dissolved, your people sent to either America or Canada, and your soil will become a dessert perfect for international prisons, army camps, etc. Furthermore, there will be a project of assimilating your people in the countries they will scatter."

"In other words, you two will die as a nation."


	2. Chapter 2

Serbia was currently occupying two thirds of the backseat while Voivodina was sitting on only one. After she was briefly told a story about herself, she fell silent. It was hard for her to accept all of that. She did not know how she got in the basement in the first place, and now some people who claimed to know her come and tell her that she will die in three months. Not to mention that she was asleep for a long time and was presumed dead. She wanted to ask many questions, but her rational thinking stopped her. It was not smart opening her cards at all when she did not even know with whom she was playing. Even if nations were in a shape of a person, that did not mean she could trust them. Serbia knew that there was no such thing as 'friendship' between countries, only political interests. She must avoid all personal questions and be subtle while asking her own.

The four of them were in a strange kind of vehicle. It was obvious that it was once a car; however, in the places where the wheels should have been there were aeroplane engines of a sort. They were floating about two meters above the ground and since the steering wheel which Russia was gripping tightly looked like the one from the end of the twentieth century, this vehicle couldn't actually fly. Not that Serbia minded too much, the… car looked like it could fall apart any second. The paint faded long time ago and there was rust everywhere. She could also swear that something moved beneath her seat. Despite the ability to levitate above the ground aat an admirable speed, she thought that it looked like an over sized trash can, but she refrained from commenting.

It was five o'clock when they started the journey, and after an hour and a half, they had to turn on the air condition because the heat was becoming unbearable. It was eight o'clock now, and Serbia noticed that something was not right. In the ruined building where she was found, they told her that it was located in Belgrade, once a metropolis of the whole country. All she saw were ruins and poverty. What caught her eye though was the lack of animals and plants in general. A few stray cats, three dog packs but no birds. She guessed that the air after the war had been polluted, but it could not make all the birds go away. Also, she didn't see any trees, for there was just tall yellow grass stretching only in wider fields. As they moved south, to Kopaonik mountains near the border with Kosovo, the grass disappeared and it's place took the lifeless, bare earth. There was nothing in miles around, as if all life vanished instantaneously without warning.

"It's sad, isn't it?" said Voivodina suddenly. She was silently observing her older sister the whole time, waiting to see how she would take all of it in. "Just twenty years ago, this was the most rural and beautiful land. Untamed woods, fertile earth, filled with all kinds of animals and endemic trees. Now it's reduced to nothing but sand and stone."

Serbia could only nod. She did not know how it all looked like, and she did not feel any nostalgia. People were right when they said that you can't miss what you've never had. Still, it would have been nice seeing it, if only in a picture. She leaned her head on the window, closed her eyes and tried to imagine green fields in the place of barren earth all around. She tried to imagine birds singing in the trees and parents standing on the doorway of a small house calling their children. There was nothing. Nothing at all, and it made no sense. She knew how grass looked, how wind felt, how leaves whispered in the wind and yet… It all felt distant, almost hollow.

She opened her eyes a bit and peeked at three silent figures beside her. Voivodina had her head bowed and seemed to be fiddling with her worn-out dress. It was a very simple piece of clothing, its green colour faded and in some places patched with what had once clearly been different materials. Now they all seemed as old as the dress making it look like its been made silly looking on a purpose. The girl had an air of a mourner about her making her beautiful in her sorrow. Serbia frowned. Why were people enchanted by suffering? Why are the most touching work of arts being born out of it? Why does sorrow have so many faces unlike happiness? Why is the latter fleeting, and the former everlasting? Is it because humans are weak, or so used to being miserable, unable to break away from that self-destructing cycle? So many complications in a single simplicity.

Serbia couldn't really see the man who called himself Greece. He was on the seat in front of her, his hair looking like a dark brown mop. He appeared to be sleeping, but he was swallowing too often for Vukica's taste and his shoulders were slightly tense. He smelled slightly of cat food and olives, completely unlike the driver's cologne. The large Russian was relaxed but with a pensive look on his face with one hand on the steering wheel and the other fidgeting with something in his pocket. With a hint of confusion and anger she noted that his clothes looked rather expensive. She could almost feel the texture his black jacket on her fingertips, smooth and light. His amethyst eyes narrowed when he looked at Greece and his grayish blonde hair barely moved when he shaked his head. It looked like it's colour has been washed out, unlike Vukica's vibrant golden…

Wait… Golden!

Serbia sat up quickly in alarm. That's not how she remembered herself. She was pretty sure her hair colour was much different. She tried to pick a few strands that reached her shoulders to look at them to no avail. Something was definitely wrong. She searched over her memories frantically. She was a Serb, she was about twenty, her name was Vukica Petrovic, she last remembered living at the end of twentieth century, her profession… Her family… Why couldn't she remember! She must have had them! There was no chance that personified countries really existed! The memories are there, so near, almost at the tip of her tongue. Why! Why couldn't she remember! This was so wrong. It wasn't suppose to be that way. It didn't make any sense at all. She was just a normal person, living a normal life.

"Serbia." Russian Braginski cut through her thoughts. "Calm down."

Now scared woman noticed that Voivodina's hand was on her shoulder and Greece was fully awake starring at her with pity. Pity… Why was he pitying her? Was this truly her land? Was she… going to die? She just awoke!

"I told you she wouldn't take in this without freaking out." Voivodina scorned Braginski. "After all, she just woke finding out that her worst fears came true." She then turned to Serbia. "I'm sorry about what happened to your people… But this is real…"

"Do you…" Serbia cleared her dry throat. "Do you have a mirror with you?"

Both Voivodina and Greece looked at Braginski who took a piece of glass from his inner pocket. He then said something and the screen seemed to flash on the glass. He pressed on the few icons and the screen turned silver before showing the man's reflection in it. Then he handed it to Voivodina who handed it to Serbia. She was not prepared for what she saw. Sure, it was her face, but her short brownish-red hair was replaced by messy blonde. Instead of her hazel eyes with a tint of red the warm sky blue were starring back at her. This only raised even more questions.

Suddenly, Vukica felt tired. She returned the mirror-glass thingy and let out a shaky breath. The girl beside her squeezed her shoulder again, but Serbia shrugged her hand off, not in the mood for other's compassion.

"It is yours people doing." Suddenly said Greece, his green eyes still boring into Vukica. "There are two types. The ones that are rich, and the ones that are poor. The rich ones are those who can afford to mess with their DNA to look like native Slavs, hence blonde hair and blue eyes. Those who can't are not considered Serbs and are slowly dying outside the cities. This is why your hair and eyes changed colours."

Vukica didn't even bat an eyelash. She didn't feel any sympathy for those unfortunate people. She didn't know them.

"Also," Greece continued. "your people live only in cities. There are six of them: Novi Sad, Varos, Nis, Lazarevac, Novigrad and Svetlograd. Each is governed by the most powerful family. Right now we are heading towards Svetlograd, the biggest and the most prosperous of them all. It is located on top of Kopaonik mountain, on what was once Karaman Greben. Its population is around one million two thousand people. The family that governs Svetlograd is Djordjevic."

"What you should know," Braginski cut in. "Is that the clan's leader, Branislav Djordjevic, passed away three weeks ago and he was replaced by his daughter, Dushanka Djordjevic. Branislav was the one who held all cities together and it was the sole reason Serbia was still on the world map. With his death cities will refuse to cooperated and the world superpowers will execute the plan we told you about earlier."

Vukica gulped. "But, I wasn't there then. Will my appearance make a difference?"

Braginski kept his gaze on the road. "I have a theory why you awoke at all. A nation is born when a group of people develop the same sense of closeness and nationality, right?. In the nineties your people lost all faith in everything. Their own leaders sent them to wars to die in vain, the whole world was against them and they felt great injustice that shook their beliefs to the core. That's when you feel into a coma. Well, I presume you did." He took a deep breath. "Over the course of the years through media and propaganda they begun to hate themselves. There is nothing more deadly that self-hatred for a nation. I guess that's what kept you asleep. Then, Branislav came and unified them. He had what many others didn't: love for his motherland. He gathered those few who felt the same and founded Svetlograd."

"I get it." Said Vukica. "People are feeling their national pride again. That's why I woke up. I'm healing."

"Two days before all of the nations felt a strange presence." Braginski continued. "We all thought it was a personification of one of the cities. That is, until Voivodina called Greece and I and told us that that energy pulse carried your signature."

"I would recognize it anywhere!" chirped Voivodina, a small smile gracing her lips making her resemble and angel. "It was the happiest moment of my life. At least I will not have to die alone and scared…"

"Voivodina!" Greece hushed her.

"Its okay." Murmured Vukica. "Wake me up when we get to Svetlograd." She then proceeded to get comfortable and closed her eyes. She didn't fall asleep. After all, she had even more information to process and analyze.


	3. Chapter 3

Currently the "flying trash", as Serbia dubbed it, was parked near "the rock". "The rock" was a lonely pebble on the road which in recently nation's standards was invisible. Well, if you can call miles, miles and miles of dirt invisible. The pebble was discovered by accident when Serbia burst out of car in order to relieve herself of her body fluids. She glared at people in "the flying trash" while she did so, secretly thankful that they found the opposite side of "the road" unimaginably interesting. When she finished, she scooped "the rock" in her palm and re-entered "the flying trash" being glad to be out of the suffocating heat.

"Now I understand the true meaning of Hell." Huffed Serbia. "And why everything living and dead ran away from here." She then turned to Voivodina. "Are we there yet?"

"Just another hour and we'll start climbing . Svetlograd is on the top, you'll spot it easily." The little girl informed her. "Also… You might spot people living in clay-made houses on the way."

"The "non-Slavs" I suppose?" the blue-eyed nation raised her eyebrow. She wasn't surprised, not really. Even in the twentieth century there were people living in awful conditions. Awful being the euphemism. It is not pleasant when it happened in her land though. Wait, she is the land. Does that mean it happened to her? But the poor ones aren't part of her… Not unless they still feel as if they are Serbs.

"Yes." Voivodina answered, biting slightly on her lower lip. She avoided Serbia's gaze. Greece seemed too. Vukica wasn't sure about Braginski though as he was driving. She opened her palm and started moving the pebble through her fingers absent-mindedly. Why couldn't they face her? She's seen herself, and she wasn't ugly. Were they afraid that she'll have a nervous breakdown? Ha, not even close, which means… They were pitying her. They thought she wasn't strong enough. Serbia grit her teeth. She hated pity.

"Voivodina." She growled and almost smirked when tension was suddenly very obvious. Voivodina turned to her, starring at her chin. "Look at me in the eye!" Vukica snapped. Fearful green met irritated blue. "Stop treating me as if I were made of glass, girl!" she then turned to Greece and Braginski. "You two too! I'm more than fit enough to fight my own battles."

Contradictory to Serbia's desired effect, Russia grinned, Greece started laughing, and Voivodina embraced her. To say she was confused would be an understatement. Here she was trying to make a rather strong impression and instead was mocked. She glared at Greece and pushed not too gently the green-eyed girl from her.

"What!" Vukica demanded.

"It's just so good that you're back." Greece wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Not just in body, but in mind and soul." He threw her a dashing smile. "It's just such a relief to encounter something that hasn't changed for the worse."

"I'm not here for you amusement." Grumbled Serbia.

"Of course not. We're for yours." Whispered Voivodina conspiratorially as if she's sharing a big secret. It looked like she missed saying that particular sentence for a long time.

Serbia deliberately looked through the window with a pout on her face, the pebble warm in her firmly closed hand. It was smooth like the ones that could be found in the water near beaches. It was flat and almost perfectly shaped into a circle. How did such a pebble end up in the middle of nowhere was a mystery. Maybe some traveller dropped it… Highly unlikely though… There was no wind or sand to smooth its shape. Someone definitely dropped it… And since they were heading towards a city, it might have been a part of a building material that some lorry carried it while passing through.

After some time and many sharp turns Kopaonik was starting to appear before their eyes. The outskirts of Svetlograd reminded Serbia of over-populated Indian towns. People were thin and tanned from the sun, children wore almost nothing and the river of filth ran between sorry excuses for homes. Braginski had trouble passing between them and had to blow horn more than a couple of times for people to move out of the way. Compared to the outskirts, "the flying trash" looked like a brand new Ferrari.

Vukica looked out of the window trying to see the houses' materials. They were round, made out of dried mud combined with everything these people could get their hands on. Wood, clay, metal and rocks. Every single one a different shape and size. Furthermore, houses seemed ready to collapse leaning on each other making a strange looking pile. It all appeared like an unkempt old clay hive with its inhabitants running all over the place.

"Oi!" shouted Braginski and hit the brakes. Everyone in the "flying trash" lurched forward. Greece barely had time to stop his head from colliding with front glass, Voivodina hit the seat before her and Serbia ended up hitting the control board between the two men.

When she straightened up and looked out, she saw a terrified looking child holding a bucket in front of their "flying trash". The child had rich dark brown locks that reached its shoulders and wide black eyes. Frightened eyes travelled from Greece, Braginski and landed on Serbia. The blonde woman and child starred at each other, neither looking away. Black and blue, poor and rich.

"Move." Commanded Braginski, breaking away the strange moment and the child scurried away, quickly disappearing in the crowd. "Everyone alright?" he then turned towards the backseat while Serbia slapped away Greece's hands that tried to help her get in the back.

"What do you think?" retorted Vukica, not enjoying the situation at all.

"You're fine." Braginski said to himself and continued driving ignoring a death glare sent his way. Greece looked as disgruntled as Serbia, abandoning his nap and settling for looking out of the window.

Vukica too gazed out again, noticing high stone walls and an enormous metal gate. They were at the entrance of Svetlograd. There were weapons that resembled cannons on every ten meters along the wall. She wondered if the cameras weren't necessary since she saw none. After all, who would've been so stupid to try and climb a wall with such weaponry?

Tall, light haired soldiers with sunglasses and olive green uniforms greeted them directly in front of the gate and when Braginski let them scan his left hand they moved out of the way. Loud screeching was heard and the left side of the gate started opening. Serbia wondered if the noise was due to rust, but when "the flying trash" drove, or flew, beside the gate she spotted no scratch on the perfectly clean surface. The metal looked shiny and brand knew, or, at least, as if it's been cleaned and polished every day. She wrinkled her nose. It was stupid of people to clean meticulously something as unimportant as a gate.

"Did my people become possessed with hygiene or something?" wondered Vukica out loud. "What happened to the good old 'no one died out of foul smell, but did of draft'?"

Voivodina giggled. "It's still there, it's just that there's a world meeting today, so naturally everything's being put in its proper place." She then waved towards cobbled street. "Don't worry, your children are still the same as ever."

"World meeting!" Serbia deadpanned. "Here?" Voivodina nodded. For some unknown reason, Vukica felt hate. There was no logical explanation. It was a lot like fear. Even if you knew the source, there was no way of overcoming it. There was streak of righteous anger somewhere in her hissing like a snake ready to inject its poison. Her throat constricted, disabling her speech.

Voivodina recoiled from the blonde woman sensing the danger emanating from her. Serbia has not forgotten what was told to her when she woke up. The very ones that destroyed her land were using it and her children as they pleased. She grit her teeth and slammed her right hand viciously on the metal door beside her. The pain that exploded in her whole arm didn't quell her rising temper. She needed to hurt a living being, to see it suffer. Inanimate objects weren't enough. She glanced at the girl beside her.

"Ivane!" cried Voivodina. Braginski hurriedly glanced over his shoulder and the second time that day everyone in "the flying trash" lurched forward. Vukica felt beyond irritated as she picked herself up from the board between two men. Before it registered in her mind she had thrown herself on the Russian and started punching him. There was no other thought in her mind but the desire to hurt someone. It didn't matter who.

_Avars weren't cruel, but they weren't good masters either. _Vrac _held her close while he spoke to the gruff nomad leader. The personification of Avars liked to hit her, and since the first time _vrac_ saw it, he didn't let her wander alone._

_She fiddled with her leader's chains, but he just gently pushed her away. He liked her stubborn pride, but it was unnecessary and futile right now. She listened to him and stayed silent while he, the one who defied Byzantium emperor, was put on humiliating display before the crowd._

_She didn't like Mrnjavcevic brothers. They were just one of many reasons her people were getting divided while Ottoman threat was knocking on their door. When Lazar Hrebeljanovic died, however, she fell to her knees and cried._

_She knew it was not Brankovic's fault for Kosovo Battle and yet she couldn't help but blame him. Even as his son preserved her limited independence for a time, she never spoke to him._

_Four hundred and some years she spent under Ottoman Empire were lost in the blur of pain, anger, hate, starvation and rebellions. What she does remember is her appearance changing while her women were forced to sleep their first wedding night with a Turk. Her golden hair got darker and her blue eyes mixed with blood-red. She couldn't look in the mirror anymore._

_She didn't even flinch as Karadjordje was betrayed and beheaded. Nothing seemed to faze her these days. Milos Obrenovic looked at her for a few moments with a strange expression on his face. She met his gaze coolly and he muttered something to himself and turned away_.

"Serbia."

_Voivodina was strange. She was unlike Serbia in many ways. She frowned at the girl often and at first ignored her. Only after she was gone for a few days did older nation realize that she missed other'__s presence._

_They called it "The Great War" because it was so great it could not repeat itself. She lost most of her people and as she looked at other nations that joined Kingdom of Yugoslavia, she could only pray it wouldn't._

"Serbia."

_She knew that other nation__s got the shorter straw in the Second World War, but she couldn't imagine pain greater than hers. Cold settled in her heart as she cradled small boy's body and sang "Bloody lullaby"._

"Serbia!"

Vukica blinked a few times, as if waking for a dream. She shaked her head to clear her vision, then realized that her left arm was holding something in a deathly grip. It was a leather jacket. A brown leather jacket. She frowned and raised her eyes. She had to fight a noise of confusion that rose in her throat at what she saw. Braginski's nose was bleeding and a bruise was forming on his cheek. His shirt had bloody marks where Serbia hit him. It seemed that she first hit his nose and then got blood on his shirt by punching his torso.

She blinked again and slowly opened her left fist releasing him. He did not seemed disturbed by her attack at all. He was looking straight in her eyes as if searching for something. They held each other's gaze for a few seconds before he nodded to himself.

"Feeling better?" he asked coolly.

Serbia thought for a few moments. The suffocating anger was gone. "I am." She said quietly as she returned to her seat.

Voivodina lost the look of a frightened animal, but remained as far away from the other woman as possible. Greece had a resigned air around him while Braginski was not disturbed by her aggressiveness at all. The Russian started the vehicle and resumed driving.

"I knew Serbs were angry at all the nations that are in NATO, but…" Greece shook his head.

Vukica frowned and glanced at Voivodina who flinched. The three of them weren't blaming her for the incident but her people. Was nations' emotional state directly influenced by their people? It seemed quite likely. But, did that mean other things were also? Vukica looked like "the real Serbian Slav" with her golden hair and blue eyes, she had felt irrational anger which Greece described as her people's.

Just another proof of her existence as nation's personification…


End file.
